Photos
by Palomaloma
Summary: Iceland never really questioned Denmark coming to his football games, nor his hobby of photography. At least, not until he checked some of them. DenIce.


Photos

[Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine; characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.]

Iceland walked downstairs, brushing bed hair out of his eyes early in the morning. He was always one to rise early, today being a friendly game with Sweden. After putting grinds in the coffee maker, he leaned back to yawn and found himself in Denmark's half-asleep embrace instead.

"Good morning," he murmured, pressing lips to the smaller man's cheek. Iceland smiled a bit, prying the arms off of him. "Didn't even hear you," he muttered, stretching.

"You know the smell of coffee wakes me up. Besides, you have a game today. Officials asked me to be one of the photographers since they have a ref already," he grinned, leaving his hands to rest at the other's hips. Emil perked up slightly. "Photographer you say?" He knew the other enjoyed looking through a camera lens, and he had shown up to a few of the friendlies when he wasn't playing, but, being allowed to be at the field not as a player was a first.

"Ja!" Denmark replied happily, getting two mugs for the both of them. Iceland slipped from his grasp and busied himself with making a decent bowl of cereal.

* * *

Iceland grabbed his bag, the majority of his soccer gear on and was headed out the door, the Dane a little behind. "Come on, I want to be early," he muttered, bothered slightly by the other's nonchalant speed. "Geez, hold on a sec, Icey! I need spare batteries!" he replied back with a bit of humor. They were out the door and headed to Gothemburg on behalf of nudging by the albino.

"Honestly, how did you weasel your way into that?" Emil asked after a period of silence. Mathias just smiled. "I asked." The other gave him a raised eyebrow, but said nothing more. He kept his eyes on the road scenery before him.

* * *

They reached the stadium without complication, though Iceland wondered for a bit as to how his love managed to get on the team's jet without bothering their coach too much. Then again, the team was pretty much acquainted with the social Dane one way or another. He was already known to be an excellent player (although he was never able to outplay Spain).

On their way into the unseen halls, they caught sight of Sweden walking ahead. "Berwald!" they both called, causing the Swede to turn around at the sound of his name. Upon recognition, he raised his hand in a greeting and met up with the other two halfway.

He looked down at Iceland and held out his hand. The other shook it briefly as the tallest spoke, "See ya on th' field." The other nodded, "Yeah," he replied as a few of his teammates beckoned him over in their locker room. Emil flushed slightly as Denmark dragged him back to give him an ecstatic bear hug, sending him back his way with, "See you in a bit, Ice!"

They turned and left, Denmark glancing at the receding figure who was chatting in his native tongue with his teammates. "Mathias." The Swede's voice turned him back around. "Huh? What?"

"How'd ya get here without bein' thrown out?" he questioned, but held no confusion. The Dane simply grinned. "'Cause I can," and punched him lightly on the arm. There was an air of easiness about him, a complete opposite effect in such a place.

"Ya love him a lot, don'tcha," Berwald said, a mere observation than anything. Mathias chuckled, fiddling with the Nikon in his hands. "Of course I do, he was my only saving grace after Norge left," he replied, voice dropping by the end. Unsurprisingly, there was much more reasoning than just history, but he was talking to his younger brother. The other simply nodded in understanding, not saying a word. As he reached his team's locker, he have a friendly pat on Denmark's shoulder. "I'll see ya soon, too."

The Dane grinned, making his way through the tunnel. "Of course! I'm too sexy to keep you both away!"

"Go suck n' one," Berwald shot back, waving him off with an eye roll. Mathias laughed in response, "I'll tell you how that goes!"

* * *

It was game time. Sweden and Iceland stood next to each other at the exit of the tunnel. Some of their players were chatting, hand shaking, or loosening up by jumping around in place. Emil fiddled with his jersey a bit. It wasn't anything fancy, yet the crowd was still slightly packed. They were beckoned to come out, the referees telling them they had a few minutes to themselves with their respective teams after the anthems.

"Ten minutes, ja?" Iceland spoke to the much taller Swede, who in turn nodded. "M'gonna win," he replied with a hint of a competitive smirk. "I can hold up, thank you." They separated, the shorter looking for Denmark. He found the puff of wild blonde hair and waved nonchalantly. The other waved almost spastically, yelling out, "Heeeej, Emiiiil!" Said man snorted slightly, giving a small smile and turned to go do last minute stretching with his team. Little did he know that Denmark had his finger held down on his camera and was already snapping pictures.

The two captains were called forth, and a peacefully competitive exchange of words was given as Iceland started first for calling the coin flip. The whistle blew, and they were off. Denmark, along with the other photographers were snapping away...

It was long match, but Sweden won three to two. Iceland's forwards found a hole in their defense and made their mark. Exhilarated yet tired, the two teams congratulated each other before heading to their respective benches. Emil noticed the Dane wasn't at his spot anymore. "Huh, weird," he commented to himself before being chatted up and patted by his teammates.

"Ah ha! Icey you did great!" the Dane in question had exclaimed, surprising him with a bottle of Coke once the team filed out of the stadium. Iceland took the bottle, already resolved on chugging half of it with a roll of his eyes. "I'm not that great you know."

Denmark gave the smaller man's shoulders a rough rub before pulling him into a hug, causing soda to be spilt. "Yes you are!"

"Mathias, come on.."

"Oh, don't 'come on' me, you need some of my awesome confidence sometimes," he retaliated with a grin.

"Confidence? You're conceited, fool," he shot back, lapping up the soda that dripped down his hand. "Come on. Let's go home. I'm tired."

* * *

Copenhagen was always a beautiful place to the Icelander. Although he would choose Reykjavik over the Dane's capital any day (only some of that was out of national pride), he was already spending most of his time in Mathias' country and home. It was becoming a second home to him, as much as he'd quietly admit.

Denmark's home itself was the equivalent of a quiet paradise. Emil had found it odd, considering the older man had shown his autophobia numerous times before during the Icelander's youth, adolescence, and once in awhile when he had to leave to return home. Then again, they weren't too far from the pier, either. If the Dane needed noise, all he did was slip outside, occasionally with a cigarette. Iceland wondered if he noticed how much he looked like a photographer's subject without even trying. It was ironic to say the least - but he always looked at ease; was that how the albino looked as well?

The younger nation rolled these thoughts about his mind as he strolled through the house. He was humming idly to himself, searching for Mathias, however, he was fairly certain as to where the Dane was sitting.

Said Dane always stayed conservative in the majority of his furniture, but Emil found him in his office enclave, elbows lying upon sleek bamboo composite and his feet thumping softly against a steel frame. Nephew was echoing about the room, and the Icelander was able to pick up his love's voice between the rock melody. Of course, he was guilty of this, too.

"Photoshop?" Emil inquired, striding over to look at the picture on the wide monitor. Mathias didn't even look up, simply nodding. "Yup. Just fixing up blur issues. Ah.. Hold on. I'm going to grab water." With that, he pushed himself up, ruffling the albino's hair in the process as he left the study. As he fixed his hair, the curious man decided to skim through the photos saved on Mathias' computer, wondering what he pointed his camera at.

Emil's eyes widened slightly in awe, scrolling slowly through the other's portfolio. Some had brilliant hues brought on by skillful positioning, others inspired a sense of feeling based on the schemes as a whole. As he sifted through, he realized that some of those were of their family, and oddly enough, mostly him. Iceland flushed slightly; he couldn't look that beautiful, could he?-

He yelped slightly, freezing when he felt familiar, strong arms around his waist. "Finally found the folder, yeah?" he heard the Dane's voice say, but he heard humor rather than discernment.

"..Ja," he started in response, relaxing slightly, "Why so many of me?" At this, the Dane chuckled slightly, resting his chin on the younger one's head. "Weeellll.. You're my favorite subject," he replied after a moment of thought. Iceland made a confused noise, staring at the picture displayed on the screen. Did he really look that happy making coffee?-

Mathias' next words made his heart jump. "You're a beautiful nation, Iceland. You may not see it as clearly as I do, but can't help but find you and any of your so-called flaws perfect." The Dane laughed a little, "That sounded so mushy!"

Emil shifted, turning around and burying his face in embarrassment. That wasn't even on the list of things he thought Denmark would even say. He wasn't going to refute it though - he had a feeling that the taller man could say so much more.

The Dane held him a few inches away, smiling with purpose as the albino was flushed, finding the carpet fantastically interesting; but then there were lips on his lips and he couldn't refuse. His hands found their way in short, wild hair as they shared a gentle kiss, pulling back with a faint smile. Mathias, however, had a silly smile on his face. "I don't want to forget," he stated simply.

Emil spoke softly. "I can't forget."

"I won't let you."

* * *

There was a furious blush on Emil's face, body rooted in place. What the hell?! He had found the final photos for the friendly match a few days ago, and was currently staring at his own ass in all of its electric blue fullness.

"_Danmörk, you were taking pictures of my ass!?_"

He was simply met with the sound of the Dane's obnoxious laughter.

[A/N: So I started this months ago.. Then, I decided to finish it. I don't know if you saw it, but it's apparent where I picked up again. Sorry of that bothered you-

I might go through this every once in awhile to fix up the diction. As much as I don't mind simplistic vocabulary, I've been writing too many style analysis essays in AP English; the fancy wording just kind of comes out naturally.

/o/ \o\ One more to the DenIce archives!]


End file.
